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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24890281">comme des garçons (like the boys)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/starscry/pseuds/starscry'>starscry</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Great Pretender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M, Rating will change, Sugar Daddy, but subtle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:14:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,217</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24890281</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/starscry/pseuds/starscry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is.. a lot,” Edamura murmurs, the rich wool of the garment suddenly stiflingly warm; whether it’s embarrassment, flattery, or a faint, depraved sense of pleasure spurred by the knowledge that Laurent has just spent <i>this much</i> on <i>him</i>, Edamura can’t discern.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Makoto Edamura/Laurent Thierry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>691</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2dqPKBJ6GvE">comme des garçons by rina sawayama</a> because i just listened to this song on repeat while writing tbh</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It feels like such a small thing, at first.</p><p>A quick check-in at a designer store in some bougie Los Angeles mall to grab outfits that’ll have them both looking the part for the con they’re about to attempt. Edamura’s familiarity with American brands begins and ends with the international chains he’s seen at a handful of malls, so he doesn’t think much of the store the older man leads him into, trusting that a scammer of Laurent’s supposed caliber knows where to find clothing that will get the job done but won’t break the bank before they’ve made it. </p><p>It’s a boutique of some sort, he assumes, thumbing the silken labels sewn into the necks of a few suits, taking in the names of a few designers -- Armani, Saint Laurent, Neiman Marcus -- and quirking a brow at a few of them. </p><p>The whole place smells of pressed wool, fresh leather, and a gentle haze of woody cologne, lulling him into a pleasant stupor as he dogs Laurent’s heels and allows the older man to pick out a few two-pieces, some dress shirts, and a number of ties that complement his build for Edamura to try on.</p><p>Once he’s settled on a fawn suit paired with a sleek white dress shirt and patterned silk tie, Laurent smoothly accepts the receipt from the clerk with a blithe smile, barely bothering to look at the total as he slips a platinum-plated card from his wallet and thumbs it onto the bill plate. </p><p>“I can pay for my own,” Edamura protests, holding up a duct tape wallet he’d swiped from some unlucky bastard’s back pocket earlier and pulling out the entirety of its contents -- three hundred and twenty-two dollars, an expired condom, and a casino card. </p><p>Laurent lets out a low chuckle at the sight, shaking his head and dismissing Edamura’s offer with a lazy wave. “Not with that much, you can’t,” he replies, turning back to the clerk as she runs his card. “Consider this a gift. I figure it’s only right to treat my future assistant to something nice.”</p><p>“<i>Future assistant</i>, my ass,” Edamura grumbles, marching up to Laurent to see just how much this damned outfit has to cost if what he has won’t cut it. </p><p>He peeks over Laurent’s shoulder as the older man finishes signing his name on the bill with a flourishing curlicue of ink, nonchalantly attempting to discern the total cost of the suits they’re both wearing. When Edamura spots the number, his brain buffers for a moment; he does a double-take, confirms the number in dollars and quickly translates it to yen, his eyes bugging a bit behind the false lenses of his glasses at the amount of zeroes. </p><p>It’s more than most of his small-time scams net him, more than he’d ever consider spending on a whole wardrobe of clothing for himself in one go, let alone a single suit. </p><p>“This is.. a lot,” Edamura murmurs, the rich wool of the garment suddenly stiflingly warm; whether it’s embarrassment, flattery, or a faint, depraved sense of pleasure spurred by the knowledge that Laurent has just spent <i>this much</i> on <i>him</i>, Edamura can’t discern.<br/>
Laurent turns to face him and smoothes a hand over the breast of the suit jacket, fingers teasing the fine-pressed edge of the lapel, lingering just over Edamura’s stuttering heart. </p><p>“Mm. Pocket change, really,” Laurent murmurs, half-lidded eyes drinking in Edamura’s flushed cheeks, the dazed glint in his gaze that he’s desperately trying to hide behind the heavy frames of the glasses perched upon his nose. “Besides.. I can’t resist splurging a bit when the final product looks this good.” </p><p>Edamura feels Laurent’s fingers skim down his arm, pausing to toy with the sterling cufflink sewn into the linen of his dress shirt. He can’t suppress the shiver that courses through him at the sensation of Laurent’s skilled fingers lazily skating around the edge of the shirtsleeve, fleeting touches leaving Edamura’s skin sweltering beneath his hands and, <i>oh</i>, the pleasant rumble of Laurent’s laugh as the older man drinks in the sight of Edamura’s flushed face and sweating palms is too much. </p><p>“I need to, um -- use the restroom,” Edamura abruptly excuses himself, unable to meet Laurent’s gaze as he darts out of the boutique, price tags still fluttering from the several thousand dollars’ worth of designer suit currently adorning him. </p><p>Behind him, he can just make out a faint chuckle and an enamored, “<i>cute, isn’t he?</i>”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hii, welcome to my first fic for this fandom... i'll be trying to update either every day or every other day! feel free to hit me up on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/feywilde">@feywilde</a> i desperately need more people to talk with about this show</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing Laurent does when Edamura agrees to unofficially join Team Confidence following his prison stint is insist on a friendly catch-up dinner. Edamura doesn’t miss the look Laurent shares with Cynthia and Abby, but he can’t quite discern what’s going unspoken between them.</p>
<p>“Abby and I have a prior engagement, unfortunately, but you boys have fun,” Cynthia says, a sing-song lilt to her voice as she handwaves Laurent’s offer. Lacing her fingers with Abby’s, Cynthia leads the other woman off toward their shared hotel room, leaving Edamura with a coy wink and a call of, “<i>Not </i>too<i> much fun, though!</i>”</p>
<p>Without preamble or time to protest, Edamura finds himself swept up in Laurent’s guile and smooth-talking. Laurent steers him down a long boardwalk, presumably in the direction of the aforementioned restaurant; Edamura barely clocks how long it takes for them to reach their destination, caught up in the familiar back-and-forth banter he’s missed these past few years (though, he’d never admit it). </p>
<p>He expects Laurent to cart him off to some rooftop restaurant on a fancy high-rise overlooking the city, but, as always, Laurent finds a way to defy that assumption. They arrive at a small, hole-in-the-wall joint nestled into a quiet area on the bayfront, the hum of conversation inside complemented by the gentle crooning of a jazz song being played on a weathered piano in one of the establishment’s dimly-lit corners. </p>
<p>“Reservation for Thierry,” Laurent says to the hostess, flashing her an easy smile.</p>
<p>“Party of two?” she asks. Edamura quirks a brow, not recalling Laurent ever calling to downsize their reservation from four.</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“Right this way.”</p>
<p>They’re seated on an outside patio overlooking the bay, tucked into a niche away from the restaurant’s other patrons. A waitress fills their glasses with chilled white wine from a pristine bottle; Edamura finds himself momentarily entranced with the way the blushing light of the sunset illuminates the contours of Laurent’s face and glints off the smile he flashes the waitress as he murmurs something to her that leaves her laughing. </p>
<p>There’s something captivating about the easy familiarity Laurent has with people he’s just met, his ability to charm near any stranger with a lazy grin and a few well-worded compliments. It’s part of what makes him so damned good at what he does, Edamura muses; he can’t deny Laurent’s charisma is a powerful thing when weaponized, despite how much of a bastard the man can be. </p>
<p>“Edamame? You in there?” Laurent taps a nail against Edamura’s wineglass, the <i>clink-clink-clink</i> pulling him from his momentary reverie.</p>
<p>“What?” he snaps, the word coming out more acrid than intended.</p>
<p>"You spaced out on me. Admiring the view?” Laurent says, leaning back in his chair and taking a languid sip from his glass, a knowing smile dancing upon his lips.</p>
<p>Edamura snorts. “Just wondering when you’re going to shave those awful sideburns.”</p>
<p>“You wound me,” Laurent replies, making a show of pressing a hand against his chest and pouting at the younger man. “And here I was, hoping you <i>liked</i> what you were seeing.”</p>
<p>“You wish.”</p>
<p>A sly smile spreads across Laurent’s lips and he tilts his head to the side, an impish glint in his gaze. “Oh, but I <i>do</i> wish.”</p>
<p>Edamura feels a flush creep up his neck and blossom over his cheeks, brain stuttering a bit. He opens his mouth to snap something back at Laurent, but half-hearted retort is cut off by the waitress once more making her round to their table, notepad and pen in hand, ready to take their orders. </p>
<p>“Order whatever you’d like,” Laurent offers. “It’s on me.”</p>
<p>Not about to pass up a chance to milk the bastard for some of his hard-conned money, Edamura rattles off some of the most expensive items on the menu. “And a bottle of your top shelf-est wine, please,” he finishes, folding his menu with a leathery <i>snap</i> and flashing a shit-eating grin at Laurent. Instead of the mildly perturbed expression Edamura had expected, Laurent looks pleased with the amount he’d ordered, like he’s delighted to be spending a thick wad of cash on an exorbitant amount of overly-fancy food and wine that Edamura will likely be unable to finish; like giving Edamura <i>carte blanche</i> is something that pleases him.</p>
<p>It makes him mind stall for a moment, recalling the way Laurent had gazed at him -- so long ago, now, it feels like -- in the designer suit he’d purchased for Edamura, a mixture of rapture and something more carnal in his eyes. </p>
<p>Ordering an expensive carafe of high-proof wine turns out to be a <i>great</i> decision on Laurent’s part, and Edamura finds solace in downing glasses of lavish spirits, much to Laurent’s amusement. It’s been <i>so long</i> since Edamura has been able to enjoy the night and let loose without worry or prison woes gnawing at him, so he does just that. </p>
<p>Beneath the yawning Singapore sunset, they talk about life. About the past. About everything and nothing all at once. As their conversation draws on, Edamura finds himself recalling the time they shared together three years ago and Laurent’s words to him while his soul was about to leave his corporeal body up in that terrifying plane with Abby.</p>
<p> <i>What you are is a con man.</i> </p>
<p>Edamura realizes that for nearly the entirety of his life, there’s always been a conditional when people have discussed him. An unspoken asterisk that has haunted his name since childhood, placed there by whatever unlucky star he was born under. <i>You’re a good kid, but you’re the son of a criminal,</i> they’d said. <i>You’re qualified, but you were arrested once, weren’t you?</i> That <i>one</i> word, always hanging over him. But, but, <i>but.</i></p>
<p>But with Laurent, with Abby and Cynthia, there’s never been a <i>but</i>. They’ve always been unconditional about their appraisals of him, have never told him <i>you could be</i> or <i>if you just</i> -- with them, he <i>is</i>. </p>
<p>
  <i>What you are is a con man.</i>
</p>
<p>With them, he can be himself. Can do what he’s <i>good</i> at, despite the nagging feeling that he should be doing something respectable with his life. It’s a refreshing feeling he hasn’t experienced since before his father’s indictment. </p>
<p>The longer he and Laurent talk, the more Edamura realizes he’s just.. having fun. For the first time in a long time, whether it’s due to the wine loosening him up or some sort of genuine enjoyment of Laurent’s company (the former, he decides, trying not to think too hard about how stupidly handsome Laurent looks when the older man in the yawning twilit night when he’s listening to Edamura talk like he genuinely <i>cares</i> and laughs at his stupid jokes, that damned smile spread wide across his face). They spend hours at the restaurant, racking up a considerable tab for food and drinks, and when Laurent finally flags down the waitress to get their bill, Edamura can’t help but raise his brows at the exorbitant sum.</p>
<p>“‘S a lot of money,” he murmurs, cupping his chin in one hand and watching Laurent sign the check with a flourish. </p>
<p>“Money is no object when it comes to you, my dear Edamame,” Laurent replies airily.</p>
<p>“You just love to throw around all the shit you’ve scammed from other people, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Laurent shakes his head. “Not necessarily. I just enjoy treating you.” </p>
<p>“D’know what makes me so special,” Edamura slurs, head beginning to spin from the pleasant warmth of the three or eight glasses of wine he’d downed (or, a traitorous voice voice inside him whispers, from the pleasure of knowing that Laurent thinks so highly of him). </p>
<p>“You intrigue me. You’re intelligent, resourceful, and confident. And,” he adds, winking coquettishly at Edamura, “you’re cute.”</p>
<p>Edamura sputters into his wine, trying to hide his flush behind a facade of indignation. “And <i>you’re</i> a bastard,” he mumbles, sucking down the dregs of the spirits in his glass and pointedly refusing to meet Laurent’s gaze. </p>
<p>Laurent just grins and wraps an arm around his waist, as he stands to leave, making sure Edamura stays upright and doesn’t drunkenly stumble and take a fall, walking them both toward the hotel. When they finally reach their floor, Laurent bends down and presses his lips to the back of Edamura’s hand, placing a soft, gentlemanly kiss there. “Good night, Makoto,” he murmurs, leaving Edamura in the doorway with a farewell that lingers in the air.</p>
<p>When Edamura wakes up the next morning with serious bedhead, the unpleasant mixed tang of wine and almost-vomit in his mouth, and a serious hangover, he finds a bottle of Advil and a glass of water sitting next to his bed, a small slip of paper tucked beneath the glass with a scribbled <i>Thought you’d need this -L</i> and a lopsided smiley face that he finds himself smiling back at.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>apologies for any mistakes, i wrote half of this during a league of legends match </p>
<p>as always, you can find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/feywilde">twitter!</a> i'd love to meet more GP fans</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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